Fire, Ash and Ruin
by Vidjamagames
Summary: Martin has been lost, and Dagon has won. The residents of Tamriel are either dead, imprisoned or in hiding. What will Elizabeth do with her new ward, an unconscious Dark Elf? Based of an unconscious fantasy... reviews and criticism welcome.
1. Fire, Ash, and Ruin

Fire, Ash and Ruin

Not a man alive today can forget the day that hell walked Tamriel, when the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon walked upon the ground.

The era of ash and ruin.

It is said that the mighty dragon-god Akatosh descended to do battle with Dagon, to end the destruction, it was also whispered that Martin Septim himself shattered the divine Amulet of Kings to summon him.

But Dagon's wrath was terrible, and his fury overcame the God of Time. The Amulet was gone, Akatosh was banished and Martin was lost.

Oblivion marched upon the land, besieging the populace; citizens were slaughtered in their homes, killed whilst running in fright and terror, murdered before the eyes of their own children.

Of the thousands that inhabited Tamriel, only a few hundred remained, driven to the forts and ruins of the land. All the while Mehrunes' fire scorched the earth, his blades cut down the living, and his breath fouled the water.

Gates to Dagon's realm warped the land, buildings of unspeakable natures were erected on holy places, and damned minions were pulled from the darkest pits to serve his whims.

But, darkness, while cruel and cold, is but a temporary thing, and can yield to the dawn as quickly and easily as it can cover it.

And dawn is swiftly coming.


	2. Family Ties

Hey all! Thanks for reviewing!

**Disclaimerific! As much as I want it to be TESIV is not mine, the characters and the story premise are.**

Okay, for starts, Chapter 1 is actually a prologue, a prelude to the story, and there will be an epilogue, eventually…

Now to review, my reviews!

Incarn: I love ya for reviewing positively, and really can't believe that this type of plot hasn't been considered…on this site.

Leah's Other Side: Cheers, yes, we lost. How unfortunate. Thanks for the comment

AdrianPetersonFan113: Thanks for the critique. Mentioned above, Ch. 1 is a prologue, and this chapter is much longer, summary will be improved. What's that behind you now?

Lastly! If this is taboo, an email is preferable over a ban. I want to run a guessing game for the fic, and any other I do, basically it involves, you, the readers, trying to guess which character in the fic is one I use to play the game, which is to be supplied in a review. In the next chapter I'll confirm or deny it.

For the winner, you'll have the honor of having an Oblivion character do a cameo in the story, details to be emailed, y'know race, class and name. Keep a… how can you look out for a cameo in written entertainment? Just keep an eye out. Hint's will be given in these messages from our sponsor.

He's not here…yet

_______________________________________________________________________

Family Ties

That was Elizabeth's favorite bed story, her father told her this every night for her first 12 years, never different.

Elizabeth woke on the stone bench her exhaustion had carried her to, to the sound of the 8th morning bell; she was to be at her station in the ward by the 7th. She had overslept, and her father, while loving and caring, was not to be on the wrong side of.

She quickly tied back her brown hair, working in her fathers ward meant she needed to be the most presentable, not only to calm the injured, but to meet her fathers level of standard.

Her father was the head healer in the ancient Ayleid ruin of Hame, southeast of the skeletal city that was once Cheydinhal. Here the small community of Fenix Imperium was founded.

Imperium's beginnings were rough at best, Hame had been a necromancer's playground at some point, and his experiments had wandered the broken halls for years. A straight month was needed to clear the area for a more permanent settlement.

Following that, Imperial refugees from the Crisis began clearing and renewing the collapsed areas, and disarming the traps famous to Ayleid ruins, a hazardous procedure and more than a few had lost a limb, or worse. Corridors off the main hall were famed for collapsing, and ruining days of work.

Liz sped her way to the wards, excuses racing through her head. Several times she nearly upset a corridor beam, and had to exchange a few less-than-pleasant words with the builders.

The 8th and half bell began to sound; her father was going to stick her in the children's ward as punishment, she knew, and the children hated her. They would scream and squirm away as she tried to heal and cure them.

The ward was at the lowest level, still a good 20 minutes by a normal route, but a lifetime of exploration and negligence of duty taught her well the secret passages of her home. From a crossway she darted to the left and vaulted onto a high ledge, in front of her was a vent, the kind that the air above ground could be funneled into.

It was slightly smaller than her lean frame; she breathed lightly, and dropped in. After a few seconds of freefall, Liz slid her hands to catch the vents sides; years of attempting this maneuver had tempered her hands to the roughness of Ayleid hewn stone. Beginning to slow, she saw the flickering torchlight marking the recovery wards.

Letting go of the walls, Elizabeth freefell another 5 feet, and landed lightly, the walls and dust on the ground muffling noise. Quickly brushing herself down, Liz silently ran out of the ward… and straight into her father.

Her father was a tall man, and it was his hair that Liz inherited, aged and world weary, he was visiting his wife in the Imperial City when the Daedra took its stranglehold. His legion had pulled away from Bruma after the Hero of Kvatch's victory within the Greater Gate. He was tasked with tending to the wounded and making sure that those beyond help had comfort in their last hours.

"Elizabeth, the 7th bell rang long ago… why weren't you here when you knew you ought to be?" Leonard scowled at her, as she picked herself up from the floor.

"And what have you been told about using the vents?"

"That the vents are not a place for a child to be, father" Elizabeth replied "And I am no child anymore." She added with a brooding look.

Leonard sighed, his daughter had supplied him with that same answer ever since she grown to age 17, "Only in age Elizabeth, you're still a child in manners, you should not talk to your elders like that…"

"Fine," she breathed, "But what now? Am I to be sent to the child's ward again as punishment? Clean the pots in the elders ward? What have you thought to do with me that you haven't before, father?" Leonard was astonished, his daughter, while a usual sharp tongued youth, had never shown such disrespect, not even to him. What he saw in her green eyes drew him back to a time before.

"You know I only want to protect you, don't you? Your mother wouldn't want her only daughter to break her silly neck climbing dow-" But Liz cut in. "Do not make this about mother! I have grown tired of you treating me like a child, only to fall back and with, "You're mother would haves…"! You fear for me, and because of that you have me cooped up in the wards, only to keep your ever-watching eye on me!"

"And what would you rather do? Explore? Explore what? The Crisis has consumed everything, Dagon has killed everything!" Their voices had begun to rise to a yell until a hoarse "Quiet!" from the recovery ward silenced them.

"If I had wanted to leave before now, father, I would have, and gone gladly," Liz whispered. "There are other places in this world than just Hame, places without the rules and restrictions of an old, fearful man." And with that, she turned on her heel, and stormed to the exit, leaving her father standing, dumbstruck.

"Not so much as you may think…"

________________________________________________________________________

Later that day, the 6th past noon bell rang, and Leonard made his way to his private study. Here was all the small comforts he could afford to bring with him on the day of Dagon's triumph. His 'desk', merely a slab of rock with a wooden stool, held the most prominent, a small framed picture of his wife and him, painted 2 months before the Crisis. Her pregnant belly held the child he had just ostracized.

He smiled at it, Ella-Maria was the most beautiful thing to him in the world, and he loved her, more than even the divine Mara could love nature. They met at the Arcane University; here he was studying Imperial healer magick, she a traveling Breton scholar, to say they were unfriendly would have been a tremendous understatement. Often in passing, words were thrown, if not, spells.

For several months, the constant battering had worn down, the then Arch-Mage, Orethan Kerther's patience, after a year, it had all but evaporated. When Leonard and Maria's feud accidentally damaged several parts of the Chironasium, Kerther's magick forced them to remain together, until they had set their grievances in order.

Weeks passed and in an almost painstaking manner, the two broke their bonds, upon realization that their anger at the other was a façade to hide their own powerful love for the other. Leonard would never forget the day that Maria whispered her love for him for the first time. They left the University together the same year.

Leonard's thoughts were suddenly, and unfavorably, pulled back to the present by the ringing of 7th past noon bell, known as one of the Feed Bells, characterized by a double ringing at the end. He and the rest of the Imperium made their slow way to the central chamber of the middle floor, their dining hall. Whatever could be gathered from the wilderness above was brought with the main stocks of food and dispersed among the diminished populace.

There were only two rules to the dining hall: You ate what you were given, no more, and that if you missed Feed Bell you went without food until the next Feed Bell. Leonard was not at all surprised to not see Elizabeth at the hall, for after every major argument they had, she would remain skulking in her room for hours. He would have to find a way to sneak a small meal to her afterwards.

The crowd in the dining hall was loud, general chatter and careless eating would cause an almost deafening din in the tall, echoic chamber. Everyone was used to it, but no-one could have expected the dead silence experienced in the waning minutes of people's meals.

For entering the chamber, supporting an unconscious and heavily wounded Dunmer, was Elizabeth…


	3. A Lesson Learnt

Baba-booey

**Disclaimer-awesome: TESIV Oblivion belongs to Bethesda, not me; the only original content is the storyline and characters, sans Martin. But when the world is mine this won't matter, and everyone will have their own jumbo-sized refillable beverage cup!**

Dialogue is not my strong point, and this chapter is going to be almost completely filled with action and stuff like that. Don't lynch me in the reviews because if it.

AdrianPetersonFan113: Criticism heard, acknowledged, and noted. I am not one to make excuses about my work, so I won't. The length and detail will hopefully improve now. Hopefully…

Deadfinger: Ehehehe, I'm working on the chapter length, I swear it was longer when I wrote it. Thanks for a positive review!

Hame exists, look it up.

I wish it were colder.

* * *

A Lesson Learnt

Earlier that day…

Elizabeth stormed to her room, which in reality was another cold stone chamber like the rest of Imperium, warmed only by a solitary torch stuck in a wall crevice, and remnants of her childhood. She paced back and forth along between her bedroll and the ancient Ayleid gate that served as her door.

Her father's overbearing nature was understandable, she knew, but what she wanted was freedom, something her father had long denied her. 9th bell sounded 2 extra rings at the end, breakfast was to be distributed, but Elizabeth's blind adolescent rage burned out all other needs. She was leaving Hame, and she was leaving today.

Grabbing her father's old travel cloak, she used it to gather her personal things, a small wooden comb, a small chipped piece of a Welkynd stone her father strung into a necklace when she turned 10, a small sack cloth doll she made, and various clothes. She tied the cloak into a bag and left it on her bed.

From Leonard's constant stories of the scorched earth above them, she knew that she would need a weapon. She was sure that the guards' quarters near the entrance would have something to spare. She also knew that the quarters were locked; only assigned guards were permitted to carry the keys.

Grabbing a few small leaves from her ward satchel, left for the dining hall, after all what guard couldn't resist a morning wine?

* * *

Horace felt that he had walked all day, and stopped to lean on a column to catch his breath. He could still taste some wine that a girl had offered him a short while ago. His large form was sagging with exhaustion, the chainmail he wore was heavy, and he had drained his waterskin dry within 5 minutes on his first walk around Imperium. And he felt tired…so very tired.

* * *

Elizabeth watched Horace slide from the column to the floor, as graceful as a chunk of falling rock; he landed on the ground with a loud _'thunk'_, a noise that caused her to wince. Luckily, no-one was around, and no-one came running.

Her combination of herbs made a potent sleeping potion, something she had to use in her time in the wards with her father. A common anaesthetic, Horace would be awake again in a half hour, and she would be long gone. She searched the sling he carried on his waist, and found a small stone 'key', a cylinder with a small handle at the end, intricate designs criss-crossed the small trinket, and glowed faintly with ancient Ayleid magick.

In almost no time at all she stood before the entrance to the guards' quarters with her travel bag, the door was a head taller than she was, and covered in the similar pattern to the key in her hand. A small circular indent in the door marked the keyhole, and she slid the key in softly. With a faint _'click'_, the door shone blue and almost melted away before her, the ancient mechanism separating the door and sliding them away. She left the bag in a small alcove and entered.

Inside, there were about 3 or 4 sleeping guards, about midway through the room, and several racks between them, filled with an assortment of armours and weaponry.

Slowly, she picked her way through the mess of the room, passing overturned chairs and stepping over smashed bottles of wine. Elizabeth grinned; the guards had been having another of their parties. It was small wonder that Horace was knocked down so easily; she could have spared the herbs, and just given him another wine for the exact same result.

Her one moment of careless thought caused her foot to brush against a small goblet, sending it rolling across the floor into a sword rack, causing the shaky wooden support to rattle the weapons on it. One guard murmured something incoherent and rolled over, the movement sending shivers of fear, and in some small way exhilaration running up her spine, she steadied the rack and looked through it.

Elizabeth knew some level of weapon handling, having sneaked a few practice sessions with friendly guards, and she was more comfortable with the shorter bladed weapons, and grabbed a stocky, iron shortsword from the rack and strapped into the side of her belt. She turned to leave, before her eyes picked up the glint of a small steel dagger, imbedded point down into a table, in front of another drunken, unconscious, guard.

It was opposite her, and between her and the table was the trio of sleeping guardsmen, surrounded by the wine and ale they had drank the night before. For all her acrobatic prowess in finding every nook in her home, she was yet to come across a challenge even she was too frightened to do. A small area between one guard's head and another's left arm was more than enough platform than she needed. She took a breath to calm herself and jumped, landing on the point of her toes in the centre of the pile of guards.

Without another second's hesitation, she jumped again and landed directly facing the guard slumped over the table, his limp hand stretched out towards the hilt of the dagger. She hadn't noticed that, and given his hand's proximity to the blade, if she were to pull the dagger out with force, it would definitely cut across his fingers. She grabbed the hilt and began to wiggle it free; it was difficult, even the slightest tremor caused the obviously ill-made table to shake.

After what almost felt like an hour, she pulled it free and, slipping it into a strap on her boot, crept quietly back to the door. As she passed the gap where the door had been, it slid quietly back into place, the key glowing in the dead centre of the door, she grabbed it and turned towards the exit. Before her was the exit to Hame, in her eyes, the last obstacle of her freedom, foragers frequently came and left, so the grand stone barrier was easy to slide apart. Once again she passed through the barrier, only to have it reseal itself after her.

Almost immediately, the effects of the world hit her, smoke in the air assaulted her lungs, and years living underground had paled her skin, which stung as the remnants of the sun broke through the blood red skies. She sprang up the circle of stone steps, coughing slightly, until she was stopped by the sight of Tamriel in flames. Her father had oft told her of the different realms in Oblivion, and what she saw chilled her, even through the heating of the burning world surrounding her. It was like an unholy union of Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands, and the Coldharbour of Molag Bal, a ruined Tamriel covered in ash, burning rock, and a stench of death.

Yet Elizabeth did not regret her decision, she had come way too far, and the need to explore this alien world overtook her fear of it. Hame was set in the Valus Mountains, a series of steep rocky cliffs that provided a natural border from between the remnants of Cyrodiil, and the Dunmer providence of Morrowind.

She climbed onto a rock to get a better view of her surroundings; her eyes were stinging and blurry from smoke in the air, coupled with the years of adapting to the gloom in Imperium, it was difficult for her sharp green eyes to make anything out. Yet indistinguishable amongst the red skyline and blackened earth was the Imperial Palace, White-Gold Tower, the capital of the Imperial City, and the old Empire. Why on Nirn that this former tribute to the Empire had been spared Dagon's rage eluded many people.

Elizabeth could barely contain in within herself any longer, she was free, her father and his oppressive nature were sealed inside the ruin behind her, and she sprang from her perch crying out in delight and joy.

* * *

It was 5 past noon bell, Elizabeth figured, when she finally stopped to rest. Her day had been the most fun, eventful experience in her life, she had climbed across the mountains, their scraggy sides making the perfect challenge to her dexterous skills, but the highlight was the small family of deer she stumbled upon when she passed through some brush. They had been stripping the bark of the trees around them for sustenance, as most of the 'edible' grass had long been burned away.

With them she shared some of the food she stole from the stores in Hame, and some more of the herbs from her healers pouch were used on the fawn in the group, she noticed that it had been licking at a deep cut in its front leg. She gave it a stem of berries to calm it, and rubbed a balm on the wound while reciting a memorised healing spell.

She lay stretched out on the overhanging rock she chose to rest on, her belt she had taken off, the iron sword weighing her down, she smiled wearily, and was all but asleep when she heard noises coming from below her. She crawled over to the edge, and what she saw below scared her almost to death.

Two Dremora footsoldiers, Churls most likely, were huddled at the foot of the hill her rock stood over, they faced the opposite direction, and she flattened herself to the ground to better her chances of remaining undetected. She strained her ears to try and hear what they were saying.

* * *

"Pitiful mortal flesh sack…" muttered Herothep, his gaunt face lit up with amusement, "I doubt he is even worth the mines, maybe we should set him into the mountains for a little hunt." At his feet was a Dunmer traveller, his light blue face quaking in terror. His colleague laughed, "This elf? He is more likely to fall of a cliff edge before we start…" And aimed an armoured kick into the elf's stomach, "A sacrifice would be easy treatment for you, scum…"

"Please," the shaking blue figure gasped, "Take whatever you want from my pack, and leave, trouble someone els-" But this too was silenced by a kick. "You think whatever you have would please us?" And Herothep began digging through his bag, "Useless sword, coins, and foo-, what's this?" Herothep withdrew from the bag a hunk of dripping red gristle. "The heart of one of my kin? And with a shrine to the ungrateful Boethiah nearby…Arthanon I think the whelp wanted to do a taboo ritual, summoning of another Prince into our Lord Dagon's new Deadlands… punishable by death." And they both grinned evilly at this, showing needle sharp teeth and ink black gums.

"On your feet then maggot, we'll try not to make it too fun for us…" Herothep said with malice, and hauled the dark elf to his feet, Arthanon pulled out his blade, and its tip caught some light and glinted with a sharp and deadly edge.

"Face us and die with some dignity, worm!" Arthanon commanded, before roughly spinning him around. He raised the sword high, pointed it towards the Dunmer's heart "Eye for an eye, heart for a heart." He laughed and began to plunge it down. The elf screamed and dodged it, barely, but stumbled and fell to the ground again.

Herothep growled and grabbed him again, this time by the throat. He held him high in the air, and felt the elf's life begin to ebb away, the claws on his armoured glove cutting into his neck, he pulled a small knife from his belt with his other hand. "If you wished to evade death," he snarled "Then you chose the wrong day for it."

His knife was close to the dark elf's face, and he could see a thin green coat covering the blade.

"A poison that will leave you begging for death's embrace," Herothep muttered, "And death itself will not want you…" He than began to cut down the side of the elf's face, slowly, from the top of his right brow down to his cheek. He laughed with fierce glee, before feeling something hit him hard in the back, and knew nothing more…

* * *

Elizabeth jumped from her perch, flipped in the air and brought her boot down onto the Dremora's back, forcing him into the ground, his head cracked into the hard earth, and his grip on the elf was lost. Both crumpled to the floor, Arthanon, surprised by the sudden nature of the act roared in rage, and brought the sword around to slash across the intruder's back. But she was far too quick, darting outside the range of his broad swing, withdrawing from a small strap on her waist, a small steel dagger. Which she then hurled towards Arthanon.

There was a sickening _*Thwick!* _as the blade embedded itself to the hilt in the Dremora's throat, piercing vital arteries, he stood there for several seconds, shocked by the speed of the event, he fell on his back, gurgling as his tar-like blood oozed from the wound and his mouth. In seconds he was dead…

Elizabeth stood panting, the adrenaline coursing through her veins like Skooma, she felt empowered, before a groan of pain returned her to reality.

The dark elf was struggling away from the scene of the fight, but the poison coursing through his veins was sapping his energy, before all he could do was flop onto his back and lie gasping. She rushed over to him, withdrawing from her pocket, her healers pouch containing the very last of her restorative herbs and balms.

She lifted his head from the ground and felt around the wound on his head, the immediate area burned white hot._ Poison!_ Elizabeth thought, _If only I didn't use the majority of my herbs on that fawn! _She withdrew from another pocket, a tiny vial of water, and from the pouch, a small piece of ginseng root, and a few shrivelled Redwort petals, hastily she crushed them into the vial, and poured some of the mixture into the wound, and the rest into the, now very pale blue, elf's partly open mouth. Slowly, some of the heat began to fade, and the elf's ragged breathing eased, he was unconscious.

She only used a basic cure potion, the only other person she could trust with the elf in such a delicate state was her father. To this she groaned, she would have to return to Hame, to father, and she would have to explain what happened with Horace, but there was limited options. The dark elf was stable at the moment, but who knew when the poison would return in his system?

She packed away her healer's pouch and stuffed the empty vial into her pocket again, then using her body as support, helped the elf up. It was a long walk back to Hame, and it was hard trying to keep the Dunmer with her when she scaled the normally unfathomable mountain sides. She had left her blade dug into the Dremora's neck and the belt with her sword on the ledge above them, along with her pack.

It was another hour and a half before Elizabeth stumbled into the eating hall of Hame, bleeding from the cuts and bruises she suffered on her way back. All eyes were on her and her burden, she sorted through the crowd with her eyes and found her father, she laid eyes on him for seconds before falling to the ground. The last thing she remembered before her eyes closed was her father's gentle hands supporting her head.

"I've got you Izzie-Beth"

* * *

HOLY HELL!

That was hard, not in the fact that it was a long chapter to write, more so in the fact that I had 3 assessments due in when I was writing it.

Oh well, better late than Neville

Here's a little trivia: 9 bottles of Coca-Cola were drank in the creation of this story. And one animal was harmed, but almost immediately cured, if you payed attention.

~Scream until your heart stops.


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